The Golden Prisoner
by cabellosdefuego
Summary: In a fantasy, Roman-like world, Bulma is a rich, divorced young philosopher working for the Empire, living a life full of privilege and luxury. Her whole world will change when she meets an enslaved Saiyan gladiator, a war prisoner from Lord Frieza's lastest campaign.
1. Chapter 1

A fantasy Roman-like empire where Bulma is an influential, divorced young woman and Vegeta is an enslaved Saiyan Prince serving as a gladiator at the Circus.

We'll see where this goes... Please tell me what you think! I had a blast writing this for sure.

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"Just say yes, Bulma. I promise it'll be just one date." His eyes, his face, his tall, well-built body would've been irresistible for any female. Hell, even the first time she saw him, her panties dropped. But Bulma Briefs knew better now, after one tough divorce, to stay away from men like him. He grinned seductively, as he took off his galea -a bronze forged helmet- and instinctively touched the luscious red crest that decorated it. "You'd make me the happiest man in the Cold Empire".

"You really flatter me, General Zarbon, and it pains me terribly to turn you down." She smiled softly as her glance ran over the heavy books on her desk, picking them up to put them inside her brown leather bag. It was one of the newest, most luxurious items that had just arrived to the city – that kind of leather was rare, directly brought from the new distant lands conquered by the empire. Only few people had the privilege of owning such exclusive materials: Bulma was one of them. As a rich, powerful, influential philosopher and prominent professor at the Universitatis, she was known for being one of the most desired -and envied- women in the city. She had already accomplished at her short 25 years of age what other men struggled their whole life to gain: respect from her peers, admiration not only for her striking, exotic beauty, but for her articulate rhetoric and her fiery temper.

"Wonderful class, professor!" one of her students waved as groups of young men left the room chatting and laughing.

She nodded at them before turning her attention to Zarbon once again:

"I have another class to give now. You'll have to excuse me." She passed by his side but he gently touched her arm to stop her. If she could've rolled her eyes at him, she certainly would have, but Bulma knew how careful she had to be around Emperor Frieza's generals – and specially, around Frieza himself. One look, one word, one slight change of tone that they took as offensive and you'd be punished depending on the Emperor's mood. _They're all sick fucks, _Bulma thought as she tried to come up with something to turn him down politely. He spoke before she could react:

"The Emperor is having a gala tonight. I was hoping you would join me." Zarbon's voice was as sweet as honey, but the mere mention of the Emperor implied that he wasn't toying with her. "Everyone would be delighted to see you and listen to your wonderful stories. And Lord Frieza is in an excellent mood today. He just came back from a campaign in Vegetasei covered in glory!"

She raised an eyebrow. Those galas were huge, excessive, and the right place to see and be seen; to weave nets of power and influence. Being a divorced woman, with no important husband to rely on, she had to struggle for herself. Turning down an invitation to one of Frieza's private parties was out of the question. It was undeniably tempting, really... she needed some good fun, and as a lover of poetry and aesthetics, those mundane pleasures appealed to her like no others. Food, drink, music, poetry... maybe a good session of long and hard fucking wouldn't hurt her either. There were always fierce soldiers, exotic slaves or powerful generals like Zarbon himself that would be more than happy to fulfill whatever kinky fantasy she came up with those nights. After her divorce with Yamcha, an elite athlete, she had discarded monogamy as an option.

"Oh, general, I guess I could arrange my schedule then... I'd love to congratulate the Emperor personally," Bulma cajoled as she curled one of her long blue locks with a finger.

The hand he had on her arm softly moved up to her shoulder as he leaned in to whisper seductively:

"He'll be delighted to see you."

"Sleazy motherfucker" Bulma mumbled with disdain after Zarbon left before taking a last look at her notes of the philosophy class she was about to dictate. She decided she'd take the class for a walk under the warm spring sun to avoid running into the general at the university again.

The beat of drums could be heard from outside the palace, anticipating the lustful, atmosphere that flooded the luxurious, marble-covered rooms. As Bulma made her way towards the entrance, Zarbon gallantly taking her by the arm, she couldn't control the goose bumps that tingled on her skin. Something –maybe the starry night skies, or the general excitement that was built upon what promised to be Frieza's most unforgettable party- told her this night would be one to remember. She glanced at her reflection as they walked past the mirrors in the hallways and a half smile curved her glossy pink lips. Her over privileged life had drove her to develop an excessive, loud-mouthed cockiness... an attitude that only a woman used to being desired could pull off. Tonight, she knew the party would be all about triumph and glory, so she had decided to dress herself as a golden jewel, the epitome of opulence. Her slender, luscious body was barely covered by a shiny gold bikini top that pushed her full breasts together, barely containing them in place. A thick golden choker around her neck contrasted brightly with her waist-long blue locks, and a dainty golden chain surrounded her slender waist, which tingled gracefully with every step she took. Wearing nothing but a golden thong, her hips looked strikingly hypnotic.

Zarbon had inevitably gasped when he picked her up that night, but disappointment soon settled dreadfully in his stomach. He couldn't ignore the fact that when he showed up with her, looking like that, someone more powerful than himself would try to court her... maybe even the Emperor himself. And then, there would be nothing he could do to stop it. As he pushed the door open, his eyes slid slowly down her body one last time, before losing her to the fierce competition of implacable, wine drinking warriors intoxicated by the sweet wine from the empire's valleys and the rhythmical, sensual beat of the drums.

As the room revealed before them, they were stricken by the smell of sandalwood and wine. Bulma inhaled deeply as she let the heat of the atmosphere and the golden light of the torches bathe her, remembering the long discussions she had with other scholars: the ascetics, intensely focused on abstinence from sensual pleasures and virtue as a method of gaining freedom. But she couldn't deny pleasing her mind or her body. She believed that pleasure was the greatest good in human life, and she sure as hell would do whatever she could to achieve it: art, food, sex... she was a fierce advocate of hedonism, and she would stand by it in the classroom, in her writings, in debates and in her own private life.

All kinds of fresh fruit ornamented the wide, elegant tables at the center of the room. People moved around to the music or rested comfortably on the lush velvet pillows arranged on the ground and on the wide divans while they watched a group of stunning centaurs walking around with champagne and wine bottles in their hands, diligently filling any empty glasses. Bulma made her way alongside Zarbon between the exquisitely decorated furniture, the bare toned chests of victorious soldiers and the exquisite silken dresses of princesses and high society women who stared at Bulma's figure through the corner of their eyes. But tonight there was no space for judgement: everyone present knew that whatever happened at Frieza's private parties, stayed in Frieza's private parties. Zarbon searched for the Emperor anxiously while he shot angry glares at his comrades, who lustfully stared at Bulma's ass when she walked by.

"Oh, there you are, Zarbon. You look so handsome!" Frieza called gleefully from a blood red, satiny futon where he was sprawled with the unapologetic poise of royalty while a tiny, blue floating cat fed him sweet smelling grapes. A grotesque, obese pink creature stood silently in armor beside him. _Dodoria_, Bulma thought with a snarl, _one of Frieza's cruelest bodyguards_. She was struck by how happy the Emperor looked, indeed. It must've been a hell of a successful campaign.

Zarbon knelt down as he kissed his hand, pride and relief for finally finding his master invading him. Bulma couldn't help but to wince at the true loyalty she saw flashing in the general's face towards the Emperor. It was no secret that Frieza was a tyrannical son of a bitch, and she couldn't imagine anyone feeling true love for such a creature. Of course, she would smile and behave in his presence, but only out of survival instinct. A part of her hated herself for it, but she loved life too damn much to give up on it just now.

"My lord!" The general said in an unexpected sickeningly sweet tone, "It's so great to have you back!"

"Well of course I'm back," Frieza replied smugly, giggling. "Like those savages from Vegetasei stood any chance against my army."

"Of course they didn't, Emperor. How could a bunch of brutish apes, enemies of civilizations and freedom, could ever even hope of defeating your holiness!"

"Hear, hear, Zarbon." The Emperor stood up, revealing his tiny body, making the blue floating cat jump in fear. He touched his chin lightly with one of his thin fingers, one of his dark purple nails scratching his pale skin softly, as if pondering. "Why is it, my beloved Zarbon, that ungratefulness is so widespread along the Earth? Why has hatred became such a venomous disease?" He questioned affectedly. "The gods have favored us with grace and glory because we deserve it. But the poor, the sick, the less privileged and the barbarians insist on fighting what the gods have destined for them by feeding on their hatred towards us. Why can't they just accept what they deserve? Why do they have to torment us, why would they try to disrupt the sacredness of our paradise?"

Zarbon took his Master's hand in a comforting manner, while Bulma froze beside him.

"I don't know, my lord. But the gods are on our side. We will prevail because we're virtuous."

A pleased smile curved Frieza's dark, thin lips.

"Precisely, General." His eyes suddenly met Bulma's, which immediately caused her to experience a sharp, cold shiver down her spine. His unsettling look didn't leave hers as he spoke. "And if I didn't know better, I'd say you're a daughter of the gods yourself! Please introduce us, Zarbon."

The soldier cleared his throat.

"You... you already have been introduced, Emperor. This is Bulma Briefs, an intellectual and philosophy professor at the Universitatis. She designed the new telescopes for the warships."

"Oh my, yes! Of course I remember. You look striking, dear. If you weren't so smart, I'd probably already have you as my concubine!"

Bulma forced a smile but couldn't find her voice. She knew that if she spoke that tiny son of a bitch would never know what hit him – but she'd probably loose her tongue (if not her life) right after it.

"Those telescopes were astounding!" he continued excitedly, lying back down on the futon as the kitty hurried to follow him. "If it weren't for them, we would've lost our way out in the sea. They were a great advantage against the Saiyans! Oh, I almost feel bad for the poor monkeys."

He looked at Bulma with small, glittery eyes of joy.

_So he expects an answer now? _She asked herself clumsily as she managed to blurt out an awkward "Thank you, Emperor."

"How did you manage to come up with such advanced technology?" Frieza questioned.

Bulma was a fucking professor, a speaker, a champ at rhetoric, but for some reason, the presence of the Emperor disturbed her so deeply that her tongue grew numb and responded with the grace of an overdosed clown.

"I just, uh... I um... I just found some crap lying around my workshop and uh... I thought I could use this... and that. Um. You know. The usual."

Zarbon shot her a look of pure horror.

Frieza clapped at her reaction.

"Oh, what an adorable little thing!"

The general's eyes widened in disbelief.

"She's not just gorgeous and a genius, she's a comedienne too!" the Emperor said excitedly. "Zarbon, I am so terribly sorry, but I'm going to have to steal the girl for tonight."

_Oh no, oh nononono..._

Bulma couldn't think of any situation more uncomfortable than spending the whole night with that terrifying dwarf. She would rather listen to her parents having sex.

"Emperor!" She interrupted with excessive enthusiasm, "I couldn't possibly be the receiver of such honor! I would bore you for sure."

His eyes slid over he cleavage wickedly.

"I think you could keep me quite entertained."

Zarbon opened his mouth to speak but Frieza interrupted him sharply.

"Leave us, General. And don't forget to try the stuffed giraffe neck. It's delicious."

As Zarbon's beautiful face turned into a cold mask, he bowed his head in silent agreement. Submission to Frieza's desires was the first rule of the court to stay alive. The tall man retreated into the mass of dancers and disappeared in the dim, decadent glow of the room.

Frieza patted the space on the futon beside him and Bulma sat down stiffly.

"You look so tense, dear."

"Well, I haven't had any wine yet," Bulma commented with a smile as she decided to get her confidence back… se would surely needed if she was going to spend time with this monster. I might as well get drunk quick, she thought.

"We'll fix that right away." The Emperor answered, as he pulled the cat's tail and addressed him harshly. "Bring the best wine for Miss Briefs. Move!" In just a few seconds, a centaur was pouring sweet red wine for her in a wide crystal glass.

The pleasant sound of music mixed with laughter and conversation filled the room, as people danced and drank with joy, while others laid down on the wide futons or over the soft fur carpets that completely covered the floor. Gorgeous warriors bragged about their latest victories on the battlefield while beautiful women snickered flirtatiously, everyone slowly becoming intoxicating with champagne and wine. An exotic looking woman stripped on a platform while a group of males clapped enthusiastically and centaurs walked nimbly between the guests as a group of socialites pulled their tails mischievously.

Thanks to the alcohol flowing in her blood that heated her chest reassuringly, Bulma started to find everything the Emperor said unusually interesting and amusing. He was a powerful creature, and she was somewhat fascinated, analyzing the behavior of the man who held the destiny and lives of so many at the palm of his hand. He was in his element: people sucking up to him, surrounded by wealth and beauty.

After an hour of talk an laughter, Frieza let his tail slid up Bulma's leg viciously.

"But let's hear the good stuff, Bulma… Are you single?"

She cleared her throat and wondered why she didn't punch the emperor on the face the minute that thick tail touched her thigh… the wine, probably.

"Divorced, actually," she replied casually.

"Why was that, dear? What fool would divorce such a delightful creature as yourself?"

"I was married to this athlete… But we were too young to know what we were doing. Our lives just went in different directions."

"Was he handsome?"

"Very much."

"But you got bored of him, didn't you?"

Bulma's eyes widened slightly at Frieza's sharp insight. He was obviously insanely smart. A frightening thought flashed through her mind: what if he noticed the veiled and utter disdain she felt towards him?

"I did. Cheers to that" she replied, raising her glass.

"Of course you did" he answered as his eyes narrowed and his tail played with the shiny fabric of her golden thong. "People like us, Bulma, are meant to be with extraordinary beings. What could a simple athlete offer you?"

She shrugged as her heart raced with unspeakable nervousness – that tail, my God.

"I suppose you're right, Emperor. I realized I had to end it when I discovered I'd much rather spend time with my blueprints than with him!"

"Your ability for innovation is certainly remarkable, Bulma," Frieza said as he gulped down another glass of champagne, "I think we could put it to good use. We need to build new weapons and new technology for our next pacification mission. There's a small group of Saiyans that escaped our last attack. They're hiding and building a resistance."

"I'm at your service for whatever the Cold Empire needs."

The grin across Frieza's face made Bulma sick to the stomach… he was so full of himself. At least the wine was superb.

"That's what I've wanted to hear all night," he cooed as the tip of his tail poked the golden fabric between her legs. His tone suddenly changed to one full of lust and malice. "Have you ever seen a Saiyan?"

"Never" she whispered, as a mix of disgust and arousal tensed her lower belly. She had surely heard about that fierce race of savage warriors, enemies of the Cold Empire. But they were as distant and dangerous as the gods themselves.

"Then you're in for a real treat." His tail poked slightly harder while he lowered his voice, like he were about to confess a piece of mischief. "I brought prisoners to serve as gladiators on the circus… Saiyans make the strongest gladiators! But I have a surprise for you, Bulma. After all your hard work and that ugly divorce, you need a little indulgence, don't you?"

Bulma blushed as she intuited where he was going. And she knew she wouldn't oppose the idea. She giggled nervously.

"What do you have in mind?"

"I have the Saiyan Prince chained in the next room. And before he dies in the arena, I'd like you to have him."


	2. Chapter 2

First of all, I have to thank everyone who read and reviewed, I'm super happy you guys liked the first chapter! I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it (again, I had a blast). Bear hugs to you all! Y gracias a los que me leen en español también. Un corazoncito para todos.

I have to thank Springandbysummerfall for her amazing feedback. Enjoy!

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Bulma swallowed hard and slowly as her blue eyes met Frieza's excited gaze.

"But Emperor..." she uttered, "W-why?"

"Because" Frieza replied as his finger played with the edge of his glass, "I, for one, think you're endearing." His tone subtly changed into what Bulma interpreted as a veiled threat, as an almost imperceptible hint of authority coated his following words: "And you'll be working for our glorious army now, Bulma. Something in heart tells me you will be loyal... and do you know how hard it is to find loyal collaborators nowadays? People have just forgotten the great values of our predecessors. Faithfulness, devotion to the Empire and what it represents!" He pointed towards the Ginyu Force, a squad of unswerving elite warriors who were choreographically dancing in a corner of the room, surrounded by clapping guests. "I love those men and they love me. Dodoria here loves me and I love him. Your friend Zarbon loves me and I love him in return! I only work closely with people who get to love me as much as I love them. Everything else is fake and worthless. You have to understand, Bulma, that everything I do, I do it out of devotion for the Cold Empire and its people. Mine is a work of love! Oh, child, I can see it in you eyes, that wonderful mind you have! I want you to get to adore me as much as I am starting to adore you, Bulma."

The passion in his words made her shiver.

"I want to give you a taste of my love, of the glory that comes with being loyal to me. I would give everything for those who are truthful to me."

That only made her think of the horrifying fate that expected those who betrayed him. She didn't expect things to unfold like this... the perspective of power that laid ahead of her was painfully tempting. Maybe she could finally find the resources, the time and space to fulfill the unstoppable new ideas and plans filling her head. She couldn't think straight... the wine... Frieza's tail still laid stiff between her legs. It was strong, thick and sharp, and it poked the golden fabric of her thong like it wanted to slip right in to her core.

"Only such a generous soul could make of this Empire the promised land it is." She said seriously as her hand grazed the pale skin of his tail. "I love the Empire, the cities, the opportunities it's given me. I would do anything in my hands to serve you and Cold." In many ways, it was true. Nowhere else could a woman like her have the freedom, the respect and the chances to develop as she did.

Frieza cupped Bulma's chin approvingly.

"Then you must accept the gift I'm presenting you. Please, don't break my heart, indulge yourself with that Saiyan gladiator."

She knew what he was really saying. Turning down one of his offerings would result in her, being tore apart by dogs in the Circus. However, Bulma Briefs was reckless. She loved a challenge and, why not, she could use some adrenaline in her life. Something in her gut told her that she had to show her strength before Frieza – she had to earn his respect. Fucking that Saiyan Prince might just be what she needed.

"Tsk, it depends, my Lord" Bulma replied playfully, cocking an eyebrow. "Is he cute?"

Frieza leaned in to talk to her closer so Dodoria couldn't hear.

"Once you get past the fact that he is one of those brutish monkeys..." The emperor's eyes narrowed as a half grin curled his cruel lips, "He is godlike." He leaned back again an pulled the cat's tail. "Tell the guards to bring the prisoner at once, slave."

The kitty nodded and floated his way towards the exit of the room.

When the Emperor rose to speak, the whole room went quiet: the music stopped, the laughter tapered off. Frieza cleared his throat before addressing the guests, while Bulma stood beside him.

"I hope everyone is having a delightful time. I certainly am!" People raised their glasses to him, some clapped. "As you all know, our campaign in Vegetasei was glorious." The guests cheered and Frieza took one of his hands over his heart. "Thank you. Your joy means the world to me. Along with the many treasures we claimed, we brought with us something far more valuable and meaningful."

The doors burst open and the audience gasped. He's quite an entertainer, Bulma thought as she involuntarily raised an eyebrow. However, her train of thought was abruptly interrupted as the crowd went suddenly quiet and she could see the prisoner the Emperor was so proud of. There he was, dressed in the Empire's gladiator attire, all tanned skin and perfect abs, dark, mysterious eyes, undeniable fierceness sparking in his aura. She felt her knees weaken and her heart race like she was a teenager. He was just so...

Perfect, Vegeta thought as the guards pushed him in, Now I'm going to be treated like a fucking circus monkey!. The Prince knew he couldn't fight anymore: his father, the most powerful Saiyan he knew, had been killed right before his eyes. And somewhere in the forests of Vegetasei, his younger brother Tarble was still hiding along with the few left after the horrifying bloodshed that Frieza's army brought. He had to return and save what was left of his race and their legacy. He decided he would take whatever would come with pride, as the true, pure-blooded warrior he was. But also with intelligence: yes, he was the Prince of all Saiyans, but for the sake of those who needed him, he had to stay alive. The time to fight would eventually come. And every fiber and every cell in his gorgeous royal body ached with the certainty that he would gain his freedom again.

"But not tonight", he whispered as he instinctively readjusted the golden metallic manica he wore on his left arm: a metal arm guard made of overlapping plates, fastened by brown leather straps. Gladiator fashion was a big deal for the Emperor: they were the main part of the show... and for Frieza, it was all about the show. Tonight, the Prince had to look striking, and he certainly did: he was pure muscle and fierceness, his furry tail ornamented with golden cuffs, his face partially covered by a bronze helmet specially designed for the deadliest warriors on the arena. A perfect Saiyan specimen: the ultimate fantasy and stereotype.

"So that's a Saiyan, huh?" Bulma mumbled in awe to no one in particular.

"At its finest" Frieza answered discreetly. He approached Vegeta and Dodoria followed quickly. "Looking good, your highness" The emperor whispered mockingly -so low that probably only Vegeta's sensitive saiyan hearing could hear- before addressing the guests. Vegeta's eyes narrowed and he felt his blood boiling at the sight of his captor.

"My friends, our most valued war trophy: the Prince of all Saiyans!"

As the crowd cheered and clapped to Frieza's announcement, Bulma and the gladiator's eyes suddenly met. A shock of adrenaline hit her like a tsunami.

She had tried to look at him quickly, not being able to fight the curiosity and unspeakable excitement she felt as she saw him – but as soon as Vegeta felt her blue eyes on him, he locked his gaze with hers defiantly. He wouldn't back down on this people. He would show no fear. Who was that woman? The Empress?

God, it was like looking into the eyes of a hungry wolf. She blinked and looked away, realizing her hands were shaking.

_What the fuck is wrong with you, Briefs? You've been with generals, athletes, slaves and warriors before... this one is no different_

Entangled in her thoughts, Bulma missed the speech of heroism and victory that Frieza charmingly gave. She didn't even notice when the Saiyan was taken back away from the party.

"So what did you think?" Frieza asked her as the guests resumed their previous activities, music filling the air once again.

She turned to the Emperor blankly, trying to hide the wild fire inside of her.

"The Saiyan, dear. Did you like him?"

She felt an unprecedented, predatory urge building up in her core. "'Like' can't even begin to describe how much I want him, Lord." Bulma talked slowly as an eloquent blush appeared on her cheeks, contrasting with the confident tone of her voice.

"Good. Remember this night, Bulma. Its the first of many great nights we'll enjoy together."

She nodded subtly, her heart pounding wildly inside her chest. What was she doing? What if he was dangerous? Was this... a test? Was Frieza testing her power, the strength of her mind, her body, her sex drive?

"The best is yet to come. Now go! That poor monkey deserves some fun before dying and I have a few generals to congratulate personally."

–

The room glowed with the warm, golden light that came from the torches on the wall. As Puar closed the door behind her, Bulma examined the place still and carefully – observation had kept her alive all this years, and Frieza's palace was probably one of the most dangerous places in town. But this bedroom seemed safe.

"Gods, this is gorgeous" she muttered, slowly walking around. She suddenly stopped and turned to the floating cat. "Thank you"

Puar nodded shyly. He wasn't used to people thanking him, and most of all, he wasn't used to people wanting to hear him speak.

A lush, wide bed caught her eye quickly, fresh forget-me-nots petals spread over the golden embroidered bedspread.

_With scarce my reason, with my fingers, with slow waters slow flooded, I fall to the realm of forget-me-nots._

She approached the bed and picked on of the deep blue petals between her fingers, rubbing its silken fibers softly against the skin of her fingertips.

"These are my favorite flowers", she muttered with silent fascination.

The unexpected loud clank of chains made her drop the petal as she turned around and her eyes met the prince's fiery glance. She wouldn't back down this time. The guard bowed silently at her as she approached them, swallowing hard. The Saiyan looked at her from behind the slits of the bronze helmet while his skin glowed softly under the warm light, his toned, bare chest expanding as he inhaled deeply.

She stood before him quietly, watching him fearlessly as the tip of his tail curled upwards. Cocking her head to one side, Bulma realized that even though she had been with soldiers before, none of them seemed as real as this one: his whole body was designed to be a war machine, a breathing weapon. She got closer. His inner heat reached her skin and she could almost smell the power of this foreign, deadly creature.

When Vegeta found out he'd be serving as a gladiator for Frieza's Circus, a part of him knew that it was the best fate he could face. He was a natural born fighter… but nothing had prepared him for this. Why had they brought him here? She wasn't the Empress and she wasn't one of Frieza's assassins – he knew he was worth his weight in gold as a pure blooded Saiyan turned gladiator for Frieza, a bloodthirsty lover of that kind of show- but then, what was he doing there with her?

Then, it him him like a train.

_I am a fucking sex toy._

She was assessing him like a piece of livestock! As his face turned into a cold mask and a scowl curved his brow, he had to refrain the powerful instinct of baring his fangs to the gorgeous blue haired woman staring at him. But his hands were –literally and metaphorically- tied. He'd have to endure for the sake of his race, even though the wench inspected him with the arrogance of a fucking queen.

"Chain him to the bed and leave us" Bulma commanded softly. The strong guard quickly obeyed and silently retired afterwords, with Puar discreetly following.

When they were finally left alone, a deep, heavy silence settled between them, as they watched each other across the room. It was almost painful for her to see such a powerful creature so defenseless before her, but the absolute danger he represented was primal, raw fuel to her.

Vegeta felt every muscle in his body tensing at her sight out of pure adrenaline as she walked seductively towards him. His strong arms pulled the chains as she got closer, but he didn't make a sound. The closer she got -with those kittenish steps, that goddamned bikini from which her breasts seemed to spill out, that rhythmical sway of her hips-, the more he tried to avoid thinking about how would that female scream if he fucked her.

What the hell am I thinking? She's the fucking enemy!

Bulma's determination was now unbreakable. She had to do this. She had to prove Frieza she was tough enough to do what she wanted with the most dangerous beast he had ever captured.

The unexpected, soft touch of her hand on his thigh made his bare skin become unusually oversensitive, the plaques of metal on his body suddenly bothering him greatly. Her eyes slid up to his chest and she smiled at the sight: the oil made his tanned skin glow lusciously. She could sense he was restraining himself from moving or speaking.

"I have never seen anyone like you" Bulma whispered as her hand ran up his thigh, grazing the furry tail that had been tightly strapped to his leg. He looked at her as he pulled the chains softly at her touch, and he could almost sense some childish curiosity in her words.

She looked at his cuffed arms.

"Saiyan-proof metal. I was part of the research team to create that particular alloy." It was like she was almost talking to herself, but she saw how his jaw tightened with anger "I can't release you. I'm sorry. My head is on the line too."

His eyes narrowed and she saw his nose wrinkling as his fangs showed.

"But since we're both stuck here, Prince..." She leaned over him to whisper in his ear, her blue hair cascading over his chest. "We might as well have some fun"

As she pulled away from him, she stopped until their noses almost touched. Her wide, crystalline eyes struck him and she winked at him playfully. Fuck, she was beautiful.

"Tell me, does a saiyan like you ever experience fear?" Bulma asked huskily as she undid the strap that kept her bikini top in place, and the silky fabric fell at her feet, revealing her full breasts and pink nipples. She sighed kittenishly, relief filling her pleasantly at the feeling of cold air against her skin.

Something primal tingled inside him, he swallowed hard.

"I have heard that saiyans are fearless."

He wouldn't speak or resist. He wouldn't acknowledge someone having power over him. And when everything was over, he would kill this bitch… that's what he repeated like a mantra in his head.

She ran her hands from her hips to her breasts, squeezing them together, teasing her hard nipples with a finger, as she bit her bottom lip. Vegeta looked at her silently, not even noticing that he was catching his breath. He was being crushed by his desire to watch her, to memorize her face and her curves. He had to remember her when the time of his vengeance came. Yeah, that's why he couldn't take her eyes off her.

"I saw you looking at me back at the party like a hungry predator" she purred, sliding her hands between her thighs and teasing the golden thong that barely covered her. Tilting her head slightly backwards, she moaned as her hands pulled down the fabric, revealing her perfectly waxed skin. Bulma knew how to make a man want her, and she wasn't afraid to use her skills if that meant saving her life. The saiyan felt his will bend and his muscles tensing… there was no point in denying it: she moved like a pro.

Vegeta clenched his teeth as he felt the familiar tension of arousal running in his blood. He squeezed his eyes shut to avoid looking at the blue haired exotic beauty who mastered the arts of seduction like she had been trained for it. Who was she? Maybe one of the concubines? Whoever she was, he thought, she'd be dead soon. But not tonight. Her moans got into his spine like electricity, spreading waves of warmth to every cell of his body.

Her body arched subtly and her tongue played with her bottom lip invitingly as she slid her fingers into her wet entrance before him, pink flush lightening up her cheeks. She watched him with hooded eyes as her fingers went in an out, spreading the wetness on her hand, smiling at the sight of his abs tensing and his arms pulling the chains. She slid her fingers even further, moaning louder as she did, in a mock act of sex which made her breasts bounce lusciously and her skin glow with sweat.

He was still wearing the golden manica, the helmet and the gladiator sandals, along with a pair of tight black training shorts that started to show exactly what she wanted to see.

_Well hello, gladiator._

Bulma stopped and slowly ran her eyes down his body, a knowing smile curving her lips as she grabbed a small bottle of oil from the nightstand. She crawled on the bed towards him like a stalking wild cat, taking in every gorgeous detail of his anatomy as she slowly moved on top of him until she was face to face with him again.

They looked into each others eyes like the enemies they were. Like hunter and prey. Her intoxicating smell, for fuck's sake, it was driving him crazy... he felt her body heat, her nipples grazed his chest, her soft legs touched his strong ones. He was being used, but the electricity bubbling in his blood, the tension in his throbbing erection and the pain pooling up on his lips with the urge to kiss her and fuck her senseless suddenly made him snap and forget about everything. He didn't care who she was, why she was there, he didn't care about being trapped. He needed some friction, some goddamned heat, he needed to hear her scream, he needed a devastating orgasm to start thinking clearly again.

She ripped his training shorts in an unexpected move and he growled with deep relief, his large, hard cock bumped against her sensitive skin at the movement. He pulled the chains violently, the bed moved with strength. Bulma's heart jumped out of fear and excitement as she pressed her breasts against his body, making him arch his back and lift his hips, struggling to find her entrance.

The wild, implacable beat of his heart resounded in his ears as it pumped blood down to his erection painfully, the unbearable lack of contact was killing him.

"You're so big" she giggled sexily against his neck, "It almost scares me. I don't think I can take it all in."

"Oh, you sure can, woman," he growled huskily, almost out of breath, his muscles rippling.

Bulma gasped. He had been so quiet and the sound of his voice caught her off guard. Something exploded inside of her. Something... new. _Can't back down now, Briefs_, she told herself recklessly, biting her lower lip and pressing her warm wet labia along the whole hard length of his erection.

His eyes rolled back, a deep purr of pleasure escaped his lips. The tip of his tail -the only part that still had some mobility- poked her thigh softly as she brushed her nipples against the saiyan's cheek, running them down to his mouth. Vegeta yanked the chains violently again, trying desperately to slide into her and fuck her like he needed, but she wouldn't let him. It seems she really was scared he'd be too big for her.

She opened the bottle of oil with one hand and rubbed it against her breasts, her skin glowing with the slippery texture. She pulled back as she sat up on top of him, straddling over him, and massaged her breasts together without a hint of gentleness. Her fingers sinked into her skin as her hands traced circles on her flesh, her moans getting louder as she felt the saiyan's cock throbbing under her.

He couldn't take this. He wouldn't take this. He was the fucking predator. He was the fucking prince of all saiyans.

A loud clank made Bulma gasp in surprise as she saw, wide-eyed, how the prisoner ripped the metal headboard open and pulled out the bed posts with his strength, releasing the chains from where they were tied. Holy motherfucking shit. Her first instinct was to run for her life: with unprecedented fastness, she jumped off the bed onto the floor and crawled away from it as she tried to get up.

"Too late," Vegeta whispered against her ear as she felt is weight on top of her. He turned her around and pinned her on the cold marble floor, a subtle rain of forget-me-nots petals covering them as they fell from the bed with the movement. Before she knew it, the saiyan's full hard length was inside of her, painfully stretching her inner muscles and his weight pressing on her exposed clit, her legs spread wide open under him. She held on to him with strength, squeezing her eyes shut as he pounded deep into her. When they climaxed together, he buried his fangs on her neck deeply to restrain himself from moaning, the chains clanging against the marble. His weight fell on her as the tension left his body.

"Guards" she whispered out of breath with hooded eyes, her heart still racing.

"What?" the prince asked hoarsely, drained from the devastating orgasm.

"GUARDS!" Bulma yelled with every drop of strength left in her.

He rose to look at her as his eyes widened, but before he could react, Frieza's elite guards were on him. As they dragged him away from her, she insisted she was fine when they asked if she'd been hurt.

"You and Frieza are dead!" Vegeta roared as they took him away, "But I swear to the gods you're first on my list!"

When the door finally shut, Bulma was still recovering from what had just happened. Taking one hand to her heart and then closing it tightly, she wondered what she got herself into... she could've died. She could've died. Was that the point? Was Frieza testing if she could survive one night with that saiyan? Her legs trembled as she got up, supporting herself on the wall and her voice resounded in the empty room:

"T-tell Lord Frieza what you saw. Tell him I did what he asked."

A blue ceramic vase wobbled on a nightstand, and with a poof, Puar turned back to his original form.

"How did you know I was here?" the cat asked shyly.

"Just do what the fuck you're told!" she snapped before collapsing back on the bed, forget-me-not petals sticking to her sweaty skin.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you **springandbysummerfall** for your amazing editing skills. Also, thank you, readers. I hope you're enjoying yourselves as much as I am.

* * *

Bulma woke up to the sound of birds and water fountains. Her lips were dry, her head hurt and her body... _her body_. She pressed her legs together, biting her lower lip as she felt the orgasm she had with him still pulsing inside of her. She buried her face against the pillow, her breasts heavy and over-sensitive, as the world still seemed to spin below her.

What had she done?

"God" she moaned below her breath, a mixture of excitement and confusion and arousal flowing inside of her like electricity. Rolling to the other side of the bed, she rubbed her eyes and sighed deeply. Brushing her hair off her face, she popped one eye open: the comforting sight of her bedroom greeted her with its welcoming luminosity. Slowly rising, she touched her face with her fingers, incredulously.

"Did I really fuck a saiyan?" she asked herself with disbelief and embarrassment and utter, undeniable astonishment, stretching her back lazily. A saiyan. An enemy of civilization. An exotic, unknown creature. An animal, a predator. She frowned. _A war prisoner. _The sudden sensation of soft, warm liquid sliding against her skin made her heart rush: the saiyan's cum was still dripping between her thighs.

Bulma sighed loudly as she let herself fall back on the bed, stretching her arms around her head, inevitably wondering what would've happened if she hadn't called the guards. A part of her almost regretted she did... the chance of getting to know the _Prince _of another race that was virtually unknown to her had slipped because she panicked. A flash of heat struck her cheeks, her tongue wetting her lips as she remembered the foreign, delicious taste of the gladiator's skin. Did it matter that he was a dangerous warrior? Yes, it did. But it didn't matter _now,_ while she was still enjoying the last tidal waves of pleasure soaking her.

"Reason can wait" she mumbled as she ran her gaze over her naked body slowly. She would probably never see him again – he was bound to die soon, as all gladiators. There was no point in thinking about what could've happened, of what she could've learned from him. Her eyes stopped as she spotted a single forget-me-not petal entangled in her hair. Taking it between her fingers lazily, she stared carefully at it. The silent testimony of that night was captured there, in that insignificant, silky blue petal. Out of pure instinct, she brought it to her lips and kissed it.

* * *

"Someone clean up this fucking mess and bring the healer!"

Zarbon smiled with wicked satisfaction at his enemy's savagely injured body lying on the floor before leaving the room. The opportunity of putting the saiyan prince in place filled with him with triumphant, intoxicating pleasure. He knew that Lord Frieza would probably disapprove of him playing around with the prisoner without express authorization, but he was doing it for the greater good. The prince had to be broken, humilliated by a true soldier before dying in the hands of another slave in the arena. For some reason the Emperor was obssesed about the show, the display of strength and splendor this pure-breed saiyan was expected to deliver on battle. But Zarbon knew the Emperor loved him. He wouldn't punish him seriously, would he? Of course not. Zarbon brushed a few strands of hair out of his face, threw one last glance over the saiyan and left with the grace of a paladin.

Curled up on the floor in a pool of his own blood, Vegeta struggled to breathe. The blurry shadows before him faded away slowly along with their meaning, but he recognized Zarbon's voice with its persistent tone of deep, rooted disgust for everything that surrounded him. A cold layer of sweat and dust coated his bruised body, the pain from his broken bones dissolving along with his consciousness. The chains rested heavily over his limbs and he felt the magnetic pull of unconsciousness tingling in the back of his brain.

He heard the healer's inexplicably soothing voice near him.

"Bring some wet cloths, Puar. Gods, there's so much blood... what did they do to him?"

The tiny floating cat shook his head with horror.

"I c-can't even begin to describe it, Dende"

Vegeta wondered if he was dreaming, as timed seemed to lose its continuity. If there was so much blood all around, why didn't he feel any pain? Who were these creatures talking? He blinked. Another time lapse. Someone kneeling beside him. Where was he? He blinked again, remembering his father's face. His mother's face. His younger brother running in the forests. I will not die now, father. I will not die under the hand of these unworthy, fucked up weaklings. Why can't I remember your voices?

Vegeta tried to reach for his cape but it wasn't there. His brow twitched. The motherfucking royal cape, where was it? He squinted, the brightness of color red tainting the hard stone floor. The same color of his cape, he thought feverishly. Why couldn't he... think, why couldn't he wake up from this state of dizziness and disorientation?

"Is he conscious?"

"I don't think so"

"But is he going to be alright? He looks... I can't even..."

"I know, Puar. But this isn't a regular person like you and me, this is a saiyan! He's different from us. He is..." Dende paused while he closed his eyes and his healing hands started to glow with white, restorative powers. Vegeta's energy was gorgeous and terrifying, and the young namekian tried not to shiver at the presence of the prince's devastating power. "... resilience made flesh."

The prince felt the weight of sleep dragging him down, but he resisted it. Meanwhile, the voices of the cat and the healer barely reached him.

Unexpectedly, floating before him, twirling gracefully with the movement of the blood pooling around him, a single spark of blue caught Vegeta's blurry sight. A bright, silken petal stood out like it was shining with a light of its own. He struggled to focus on it. A pair of blue eyes staring at him with carnivorous intensity. Aquamarine locks brushing his hot, sensitive skin. The entrancing moans of that exotic mermaid. Flashes of blue, blue, blue, that wonderful, unbearable, unforgettable tone. Inhaling deeply, he gave in to the color of forget-me-nots, sinking into a subterranean realm of cerulean silence.

* * *

"Rise and shine, honey!"

When Bulma's mother's voice reached her with its characteristic sweetness, she cringed.

"I'm awake, mama." Awake, but still hangover. She hadn't felt this drained since the first time she got drunk, back in her early teens with her best friend. Time had distanced them – as a priestess in Cold City's main temple, Chi Chi believed in a more modest way of living now.

"Could you please tell the slaves to prepare my bath?" Bulma mumbled groggily against the pillow.

"Of course, dear. I just wanted to let you know that this arrived for you this morning."

Bulma popped an eye open as a fresh scent invaded the air. A huge bouquet of red roses, which her mother gracefully put on a vase with water over her nightstand.

"Who sent those?" Bulma squealed with sudden anxiety shooting up from the bed. Her heart raced as a small, insignificant -and definitely irrational- idea sparked in her mind. _The saiyan._ She was still thinking about him.

Bunny handed Bulma a card. "Oh why don't you see for yourself?"

_The day we got married was the happiest of my life._

_Take a walk with me?_

"Yamcha?" Bulma mumbled.

"He's waiting for you downstairs." Her mother whispered conspiratorially. "Oh Bulma, I know you were the one who divorced him, but honey, he still loves you. And you're so entangled in your work... how will you ever get to know another man like that?"

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Pf, mom, believe me, I've _known_ plenty of other men."

"_Sweetie!"_

"I've been out there, mother. I know how things are like, believe me. I see it in my students, my colleagues, my friends... People aren't the loving creatures you think they are. Everyone has a hidden agenda. And I want no boundaries. I just want time and space for me to write, to _live_. The Cold Empire is rotten to its very marrow, and a woman like me has to know how to play the game we're in."

"I'm sorry to hear how cynical you've become" Bunny whispered. After Bulma had divorced Yamcha 2 years ago, she wasn't the same person. Her daughter had always been bright and sharp and interested in things that escaped Bunny's understanding -whose domain as a socialite mostly involved hosting flawless parties and having the most lively, sweet-smelling garden in Cold City- but lately Bulma just seemed... hardened.

"I'm so sorry, mom, I didn't mean to sound harsh." Bulma apologized, "I'm just. Ah. Did you say Yamcha is waiting for me?!"

"Downstairs."

"For fuck's sake, hasn't he had enough?" She hissed before sighing with resignation. "Tell him... tell him I'll be there. Just let him wait for a while."

Bunny nodded at her daughter smiling before Bulma stopped her again.

"Mom!"

"Mm?"

"Have you… Have you ever seen a saiyan?"

She just blurted out the question that was burning in the back of her throat, not even sure why. The mere idea of being in the same room with one of them seemed surreal to her; having touched one, kissed one, fucked one... it was unthinkable. She was secretly, irrationally waiting for a sort of consequence. She wanted to talk about it. Hell, she wanted to scream it to the world. It was insane, but she felt relentlessly curious and restless.

Bunny clutched her pearl necklace. "A saiyan? No, never. But I do know what kind of creatures they are."

"What kind of creatures do you think they are?"

"You know, honey. Uncivilized, cruel, bestial beings. A threat to us. Why?"

"I was at a palace party last night. Frieza just went to war with them and won." Bulma answered, trying to sound as composed as possible.

Bunny giggled.

"That's good, isn't it? You know I'm not into politics like you are."

"Yes mama" Bulma said quietly. "It's good. It's good."

* * *

"You look great, Bulma! Like you're glowing. Is it one of those new beauty treatments they brought from the East?"

The wind was gentle against Bulma's face while they walked through the park, surrounded by white buildings supported by imposing, ornamented columns. Cold City had once appeared as a hypnotic vision in one of Frieza's dreams, and the Emperor had decided to rebuild the entire area according to the heavenly sights that came to him.

Bulma turned to Yamcha distractedly.

"Wha-? No, I..." her voice tapered off as she seemed to be caught up in her thoughts again.

Yamcha frowned. His career as an athlete had sky rocketed the last year, yet it still felt like Bulma was unimpressed by him, uninterested with his company. Sure, she was a fancy professor now, but he was pretty important himself, and_popular_! He was a big deal. Men would kill to be in his position.

"How's the philosophical world going, huh?" Yamcha insisted to get her attention.

She cocked an eyebrow. He had never been interested in her work before.

"Great" Bulma replied. "I'm writing a paper now on the carnival and its social implications."

"The carnival? What could you possibly write about that?"

"Yes. The carnival. It's a concept that represents a variety of celebrations. What's interesting is that during the carnival or a similar celebration…"

Her mind travelled back to the previous night during the party. Frieza's tail between her legs, then the burning glance of the saiyan on her skin. Bulma cleared her throat and closed her eyes to focus on what she was talking about.

"… people tend to wear masks or disguises or clothes they wouldn't normally wear…"

She remembered her thong hitting the ground, the gladiator tied to bed, parts of his golden armor and helmet glowing under the lights.

"… and it is the one of the few spaces in society where structures are dismantled and the social order can be reversed."

Metal ripping, clank of chains, the saiyan's heavy, muscled body trapping her like the hunter he was. A shared orgasm that momentarily erased everyone and everything from the face of the Earth.

_Something is very wrong with me._

"Okay. I won't promise I'll read it though because, heh, you know me!" he laughed.

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Ugh, typical!"

"I'm just teasing, baby!"

She clenched her teeth with anger, suddenly remembering every single detail of him she couldn't stand.

"What did you call me?"

"B-baby?" he said with an apologetic smile, fear crawling suddenly up his bones.

"Do not call me that" she hissed menacingly. It bothered her that he still felt he had some sort of right over her.

"Let's just calm down for a second, okay?"

"Whatever, Yamcha. Why are we talking this walk, again?"

"Because" he replied, visibly swelling with pride, "I'm successful now and I wanted to show that to my beautiful wife."

"EX wife" Bulma interrupted with a glare.

"I've just been recruited as the official face of Tapion's Swords!" He announced, ignoring her latest remark.

"So you're modeling now?"

"I am! How neat is that?" Yamcha replied smugly.

Bulma cocked an eyebrow skeptically. When had this formerly awkward, sweet guy become such a world class douche? A fucking model? Where was the young rebel she used to love?

"Well look at you, pretty boy."

Maybe her mother was right. She had become cynical.

"Plus, I'm the highest-ranked athlete that will be participating in the upcoming Cold Games. I'm training super hard every day in the new gym Frieza built in the circus and I'm telling you, Bulma, I'll be number one! Those new training machines are incredible!"

She stopped dead in her tracks as her heart jumped.

"The new gym in the circus?" she asked with unexpected curiosity.

"Yep, right by the arena. Seriously, Bulma, I'm stronger and faster than ever before…"

"Are the gladiators using it to train too?"

Why was she asking that question as if she were looking for an excuse to see the prisoner again?

"I guess… Why?"

Bulma shook her head and looked away.

"No reason." She mumbled, her eyes focusing on the distant figure of the circus rising on the city skyline.

Bulma returned home with a painful lump in her throat. As she undressed herself for another bath, she reflected upon the recent events in her life. Oh, Yamcha. She knew he wanted her back and it made her sick. Her eyebrows furrowed. It made her sick not because he was a bad man, but because she hated herself when she was with him. She felt childish, irritable, violent around him – in the worst ways possible. Even the tiniest of his flaws seemed to grow disproportionately before her, turning Yamcha's handsome features into a grotesque combination of disgusting aberrations.

She knew she was being unfair. They had their share of happiness. That's why she decided to marry the guy: they were young, he was sweet and funny and cute. Every teenage girl's dream. When their relationship started to crumble, she struggled to stay with him. She truly did, but it pained her to admit she had been mostly driven by the urge to avoid accepting failure. Now that she was a grown woman, she understood that forcing things to work wasn't enough. The memories, the shared experiences, the last traces of innocence and love remaining between them faded with every passing day.

He needed someone who could look up to him. Someone simpler.

Her eyes closed as her long wavy hair soaked in the warm, foamy water.

But what do _I _need?

She thought about how she had gotten so involved with Frieza so quickly. It was almost frightening. Tracing circles in the water with a finger, her frown deepened.

"He must've been watching me for a while," Bulma whispered to herself. "Days, weeks, months? He probably already knows everything about me."

Her relaxed body tensed at the thought. She sat up straight with one abrupt movement, splashing drops to the marble floor.

"Frieza just wouldn't trust anyone at first sight. He knows me. He wouldn't have given me access to his most important prisoner so easily if he didn't already know who I was."

She hugged her knees, resting her forehead against them.

"But why me?"

The words she had said to her mother that morning resounded in her ears.

_Everyone has a hidden agenda._

* * *

Vegeta was thrown on the arena of the empty circus, splashing a coat of white dust over his oil-covered muscular legs. His bare tanned back and his bronze shield –the only protective item he was given- shone under the bright midday sun. Immediately taking a defensive battle stance, his ornamented tail lashed violently behind him as he witnessed his trainer appearing from a dark corridor behind one of the gates. The prince scowled behind the golden mask that covered the contour of his eyes, preparing himself for whoever was out there.

He had already started to figure out how things worked in the Emperor's palace: deceit, excess, violence and treason were the orders of the day in this fucked up circle of power and lustful greed. As a proud saiyan warrior, the sleaziness he witnessed daily disgusted him to his very core. Zarbon had proven himself to be the lowest, most rotten creature of them all, almost crawling his way up to the top of the list where Frieza undoubtedly stood. Vegeta cringed when he remembered how Zarbon had enjoyed torturing him the previous day.

_But that piece of shit wouldn't dare to fight me if my hands were untied, _the prince thought as a smirk curved his lips lightly, already tasting the day when he'd have his vengeance. Didn't his captors know that saiyans got stronger with every injury? Vegeta knew he would have to hold his ground and get stronger to fulfill the path that had been traced for him. As things were now, trying to fight Frieza would be suicide… but not for long. He had the drive and the sacred responsibility of taking his captor down: he was the prince of his race; the glorious destiny that had been chosen for him by the gods ran inevitably in his blood.

His masked trainer emerged from the shadows, tall and intimidating, yielding a gorgeous silver sword. Vegeta tightened his fist around the handle of his shield and waited, his tail now swinging slowly with anticipation.

His opponent's confident steps came to a stop a few feet before him.

Unexpectedly, the tall man dropped the sword on the sand and stood there, frozen, like the statue of a baffled hero, his expression hidden behind the mask of his silver helmet.

"So," the prince said mockingly, "go on, t_rain me_. Teach me how to fight like a gladiator worthy of your Emperor."

The trainer didn't move a muscle. There was no answer.

What was going on? Wasn't he supposed to fight him?

"What is this? Just do it, so I can crush you!"

No answer.

"Aren't you going to attack me?" Vegeta roared, his patience exhausted.

The trainer shook his head slowly.

"What?! Don't toy with me, you piece of trash! Come on, fight me! Do your goddamn job!"

Even when imprisoned, the saiyan's tone was impregnated with the demanding confidence of royalty.

"No." The voice was low, but firm. "I can't."

Vegeta bared his fangs and leapt forward, fisting his right hand to punch his trainer on the face. Just like that, the saiyan's strong hit was stopped by his opponent's hand a moment before it touched the taller man's nose in an unprecedented display of strength. A flash of concern ran down Vegeta's spine: he knew no ordinary warrior could be strong enough to block one of his hits so easily.

The prince's eyes widened.

"What the-?"

The trainer took a step back and removed his helmet, revealing his dark spiky hair and a pair of intensely black eyes. Tossing the helmet away, he fell on his knees and bowed before Vegeta's incredulous gaze.

"I am a saiyan too, my Prince" he said, still bowing. "My name is Kakarott, son of Bardock."

Vegeta couldn't believe it. A saiyan working for the Cold Empire? Impossible! This had to be one of Frieza's twisted games to manipulate him. Fucking Frieza. Everything seemed to be a game for that bastard: capturing him, showing him off like a war trophy, even making a show out of his upcoming death in the arena! Imprisoned, tortured, treated like a worthless object. His mind jumped immediately to the previous night. _That gorgeous girl. _Why had Frieza sent her? Who was she? What… game was that? Glossy pink lips, sweat running down her chest, the intermittent beat of his heart. He blinked, pushing those thoughts away.

_Vegeta, focus!_

"What? What are you saiyng?"

"I am a saiyan. I was trapped as a teenager by one of Frieza's scouting parties, they never knew who I was. I... I didn't know you had been captured too."

Vegeta dropped the shield callously. _Kakarot_, he thought with narrowed eyes, _a plebeian name. _

"And you expect me to believe that?" He asked with distrust. "If you're really a saiyan, where's your tail?"

"I lost it during a battle against a dragon before I was caught and brought to the Empire." Kakarot replied, clenching his fists against the ground, the painful memories still fresh in his mind. He hadn't talked about his past in such a long time... but he recognized his prince the moment he saw him, and everything in his saiyan blood told him he had to bow down before him.

"So you've been hiding all these years like a fucking coward?!"

"It is not like that, Prince!" Kakarot looked up to Vegeta, his honest eyes sparking with emotion and his voice broken as he spoke. "I have a son here. If they found out he's half saiyan, they'd kill him. He is just a boy." _Little Gohan. _He cringed when he remembered how the baby had cried when they cut his tail.

A spark of regal pride ran up Vegeta's spine at the familiar sight of the person kneeling in front of him. The prince had been trapped for weeks now, and after witnessing how his kingdom had been destroyed and his own father brutally murdered, he feared for his people and their legacy. He wouldn't accept it; he wouldn't accept the end of saiyans. Finding one of them again gave him a strange sense of security he didn't even realize he needed before now. And something -something he couldn't put his finger on- in Kakarot's sincere, almost boyish look, made him believe what he had to say.

After staring at Kakarot for a few seconds, Vegeta rolled his eyes as he realized he had no other option but to trust.

"Ugh, get up already".

He raised slowly, the hint of a grin on his face.

"I heard about what's going on in Vegetasei, but Prince, I know the gods brought you here for a reason!" Kakarot said with contained excitement.

Vegeta grabbed Kakarot violently by the sides of his chest plates and brought his opponent close to him, menacingly.

"Now listen to me, low-class scum: you will train with me until I get strong enough to rip Frieza's head straight out of his body with my bare hands. He killed my father before my very eyes, burned down my castle, murdered children. He has enslaved and tortured _me, your Prince!_ He's forced the rest of the saiyans to leave their homes and live hiding, like rats! He has chased, abused, and humiliated our race long enough! Understood?"

Kakarot swallowed hard but remained firm, his strong body tensing.

"Yes, Prince." he replied solemnly. "I believe in the glory of saiyans. We are warriors and we won't be defeated, not like this."

Vegeta let Kakarot go with a low, almost silent growl. If the man before him was really a saiyan, there was a better chance taking down the violent emperor that had crushed his people. Frieza was too powerful, too bloodthirsty and savage... he wouldn't admit it, but deep down, the Emperor terrified him.

"_Tell me, does a saiyan like you ever experience fear?"_

_Her voice had been fearless. Warlike._

The tip of his tail curled at the vivid memory; a sharp, primal impulse, fighting the urge of his brain to think clearly.

_Kakarot. Saiyan. Say something._

"You have a son, you said?"

"Yes. He's 7."

"With a... local woman?"

_Why am I asking this? It's none of my fucking business._

"That's right. She's a beautiful human". The trainer's cheeks lightened up with a hint of red as he remembered the last time Chi-Chi had smiled at him, long black hair framing her delicate features. They had been separated for years now, only getting the chance to see her when he would visit Gohan on weekends.

_A human_, Vegeta thought with a scowl, involuntarily remembering the first time he'd touch a female human… _last night_. Why had Frieza sent her? Was Frieza trying to prove his own life didn't belong to him anymore? That had to be it. The prince's eyes narrowed at the realization and grunted with anger. Frieza wanted to make him feel like an object, a war trophy to be displayed, _used_.

_But why her_?

Vegeta told himself over and over it was the desire of revenge that sparked his curiosity –he had to know more about her- but that didn't explain why he still _felt her_ like sunlight on his skin. The haunting color of the forget-me-not petals had stuck with him ever since that night, and the following question slipped from his tongue, like emerging from a dark, unknown place of his volition.

"What's her hair color?"

Kakarot didn't see that one coming. He cocked an eyebrow, confused.

"Uh, it's b-black. Why?"

"Blue hair!" Vegeta snapped, exasperated, "Do you know a young woman with blue hair and eyes?"

The younger saiyan scratched his head. "I uh... Geez, I don't know, um. Probably. But what does this have to do with-?"

"In Frieza's court" Vegeta interrupted impatiently, "Do you know if someone like that works close to Frieza? A concubine, an escort, a dancer, _someone_?"

"I think so. But she's not... she's not any of those. Why?"

"Goddamn it, Kakarot, just answer what you're asked! Who? Who do you know with blue hair and eyes, that works close to Frieza?"

"Some sort of intellectual. She interviewed me a while ago because she was designing war weapons with a team of professors."

"An intellectual?" Vegeta whispered to himself, before addressing Kakarot again anxiously. "What's her name?"

"Bulma" the other saiyan answered. "Bulma Briefs"

Vegeta repeated her mentally like a mantra – he had to remember it when the time for revenge came. What would he do when he found her? He wanted to show her he wasn't a slave, an object to be used and discarded. He was powerful, royal... a warrior.

_I am the Alpha male_, he thought, his heart beating furiously, his blood spreading a familiar heat that tingled down to his hips. _I am the Alpha and I won't let her forget that._


	4. Chapter 4

Hello readers! I want to thank Ms. Springandbysummerfall for her great editing skills. Also, I can't begin to tell you how happy it makes me to see all the reviews and follows and favorites. Really. I feel da luv. Thank you all.

* * *

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten

- Neruda

Bulma stared at her reflection in the mirror silently, adjusting the golden tiara carefully placed between her soft, long braided hair, her mind focused on the blueprints of weapons she had had delivered to Frieza today. Three weeks had passed since she had last visited the palace, but she had been working intensely with a team of designers, blacksmiths and soldiers to create a new generation of weapons and navigation devices for Frieza to take on his upcoming exploratory voyage. Her hands were still clutching the tiara, her eyes, fixated on her image, and there was a rush of emotions swirling inside of her. Seeing Frieza in person was probably something she would never get used to: deep down, he terrified her.

She should've been thrilled to have been the head of a project that involved design and innovation. However, the gruesome nature of the weapons she had created made her gut clench. Witnessing the testing of the prototypes had probably been the worst part: hearing the pigs scream, feeling their hot blood splashing against her face, the cruel laughter of the soldiers as they congratulated her for the sharp blades of the two handed swords and the precision of the bayonets. An insistent, insurgent cell of ethical questioning had kindled in the back of her brain, making her wish to return to the safety of her office at the University. She missed those days where the only fight she would have to witness involved poets struggling to become part of the cannon.

After Frieza found out she had survived the night with the saiyan prince -even after he forced himself free- he had incorporated her to his team of strategists and thinkers. It had been a test after all. She felt deeply privileged, she couldn't deny that, but she was still trying to figure out how exactly she would have to deal with Frieza's tyrannical ways. She had always been a free, stubborn-minded woman, and the Emperor wasn't precisely big on having mavericks among his ranks and files. She feared something might happen -something she would strongly disagree on- that would make her evidently dissident. Ah, maybe she was over-thinking things. Maybe Frieza was a fair, thoughtful ruler, and everything would turn out for the best. She would be powerful, respected, and part of a bigger project that would survive for generations. Yes, she was probably over-thinking -but then again, wasn't that why she became a philosopher?

Don't fool yourself, Briefs, she told herself as her eyes darkened, clutching the sides of the glossy, cold marble sink. You are serving a monster.

The sound of applause distracted her and she quickly decided it was better for her to leave the theater's ladies' room before it became crowded with high-society bimbos bitch-slapping each other to reach the mirrors first. She laughed at those women, those who only came to the theater to show off their latest jewels, but couldn't tell if they had watched a tragedy or a comedy if they weren't told to cry or laugh by the actors. She gave a last glance at her tiara, her bracelets and her diamond-embroidered cleavage and snorted. Talk about showing off new jewelry, she thought.

"Well, I have a rich intellectual life! I am allowed to be a bit vain sometimes, aren't I?" She said out loud, winking at her reflection. She struggled to show herself she was still the same privileged intellectual who wouldn't take herself seriously, trying to bury the true concern about her new responsibilities that had kindled inside of her.

"Yes you are, Bulma Briefs, you are allowed to be a girly gorgeous girl!" She replied to her first statement, fluffing her intensely blue hair. "What a convincing woman you are!"

The sound of one of the toilets flushing and one of the doors opening made Bulma gasp and turn around. Had she been caught giggling and talking to herself like a fucking teenager?

A familiar face greeted her.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Silky black hair, porcelain-like skin, red draped priestess attire...

Bulma's eyes widened. "Chi-Chi?" She snorted. "Oh, you didn't... you didn't scare me!"

"Right" Chi-Chi said with skepticism, crossing her arms before her chest. "Because Bulma Briefs isn't afraid of anything in this world!" She added jokingly, paraphrasing something Bulma used to say during their early teens.

The scientist smiled and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, suddenly realizing the awkwardness between them – two former friends that used to share everything years ago, were now greeting each other like mere acquaintances. She realized how little she knew about Chi-Chi's current life – in all honestly, Bulma believed Chi-Chi had discarded any form of 'mundane' entertainment when she had become a priestess in the main temple.

"I just didn't expect to see you here. It's been such a long time! Were you enjoying the show?"

The black-haired woman shrugged as she washed her hands, focusing intensely on the water to avoid looking at her former friend.

"It wasn't my idea, Baba insisted..."

"Oh."

The sound of their voices tapered off into a deep, heavy silence that settled between them, only interrupted by the sound of the ladies room door bursting open.

"Bulma, dear! You missed the ending of the play. It was fucking boring anyway, so anti-climatic." A blonde, thin woman said from the door, tucking her straight hair behind one of her ears.

Bulma rushed to introduce them, the unexplainable buzz of anxiety hastening her reactions.

"Chi-Chi, this is Eighteen..."

"One of Frieza's generals, I know," the priestess replied dryly as she made her way to the exit, before she muttered below her breath, "I can see you're still into them".

Eighteen raised an eyebrow, amused. The tension was evident. "I didn't mean to interrupt you girls."

"I was just leaving, anyway," Chi-Chi said as she walked passed Bulma, discreetly frowning at her revealing dress.

"Wait, Cheech" Bulma grabbed her former friend's forearm softly to stop her, "Could we see each other again? Just to catch up. For old time's sake." It was impulsive, but Bulma realized she needed honest contact with someone she could trust – something she certainly knew she wouldn't find among Frieza's court.

The priestess' glance ran from Bulma's hand up to her big blue eyes, seeing in them the same spark she recognized in her friend as a young, loud-mouthed girl. Everything had changed so much since then – she had gotten pregnant by the age of 15 and never revealed the father's identity to anyone, deciding to be ordained in the temple as soon as she found out about the baby. Ever since, she had lived a quiet life under the safety of the temple, providing her son, Gohan, the most secure environment possible. She didn't want to think about what the Empire would do to him if they found out what Gohan really was... Chi-Chi had experienced, first hand, the feral nature of motherhood when it came to defending the sake of her children.

Her first reaction was to refuse. Bumping into Bulma here was unexpected and they had diametrically opposed lifestyles. Seeing her childhood friend hanging out with those powerful, dangerous people -such as Eighteen or Zarbon- only reinforced Chi-Chi's decision to stay away from her. However, her mentor, Baba, had taught her to read the gods' will traced on the events of everyday life... if Bulma had asked her to see her again, there had to be a greater reason. Her curiosity was sparked, and her sharp psychic instincts told her she had to agree, for a reason that she would come to understand further ahead.

Her features softened after she left her initial hesitation behind. "Sure, why not. Drop by the temple sometime."

"Great. When?"

"I know you're a busy woman, so whenever you can will do."

"But how will you know I'm coming?"

Chi-Chi placed her hand on the doorframe before sliding past Eighteen and waving goodbye. "Oh, I'll know."

Eighteen glared at the priestess from the corner of her eye as she left the room, and then sighed with over-dramatic exhaustion.

"Well, she seemed uptight." The blonde commented as she put an arm around Bulma's shoulders and pulled her close.

"She wasn't always like that, you know," Bulma replied with a shy hint of a smile.

"Do you realize we're still standing in a fucking bathroom?" Eighteen chuckled, losing interest in the previous subject.

"I have an appointment with my manicurist in half an hour. Why don't you come with me? We still have time before the meeting with the Emperor."

Thinking about going back to the palace made her shiver. That palace. She suddenly remembered the saiyan and her heart rushed -she hadn't heard anything about him in weeks, and she secretly feared he had already died. And even though he had threatened to kill her at the top of his lungs, he hadn't hurt her when he had the chance. She wasn't scared of him... even more, she felt like something about him had stuck with her.

The blonde gave a quick look at her own delicate hand -which had strangled, beaten, stabbed and yielded the deadliest weapons- and nodded.

"I could surely use one. It's so refreshing to hang out with you, Blue. The army life forces a lady to be surrounded by brutes!" She took Bulma's hand softly, grazing a finger on her palm. "Ugh, you have such pretty hands." Eighteen said with feigned jealousy, before making a pause to stare hard into Bulma's eyes. "You have to go with the red." The subtle change in her tone made Bulma's muscles tense. Eighteen's casual voice contained a strong, menacing undertone."The Emperor loves red nails. You definitely have to go with the red."

* * *

Vegeta started at his reflection in the mirror silently, adjusting the golden mask carefully placed over his nose and the contour of his eyes. The normally crowded room was now silent and empty, the dining wooden tables were freshly cleaned and an impressive set of weapons hung quietly from the walls, waiting to be used. His glance ran over the new battle scars he had gotten in the last few weeks as a prisoner: they were deep, but they didn't bother him. The saiyan believed in the importance of memory and legacy, and every scar he owned reminded him of what had taken for him to become who he was.

He was still a prince, he thought, still a warrior. No matter how much Frieza tried to break him, his saiyan, invulnerable nature would prevail.

His eyes narrowed as he bandaged his fists for the upcoming battle – it would be the first time he would be fighting publicly in the arena. As the natural born fighter he was, the thrill of facing an enemy sparked in him the moment he found out it was his time in the arena. And his pride -the only thing he had left as a prisoner- kindled his blood with the strong urge to show this fucking empire what a true saiyan was capable of.

He smirked smugly, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

"Vegeta, hey!" Kakarot approached the prince cheerfully, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "Looking good, huh?"

Vegeta grunted. Kakarot was a powerful fighter, an excellent trainer, but intrinsically sweet and naive. He felt like punching him in the face most of the time – but he couldn't deny that Kakarot challenged him on several levels, and that was something the prince couldn't get enough of.

"All ready for tonight?" the younger saiyan asked as he adjusted Vegeta's leather belt and searched for Vegeta's glance on the mirror.

The prince snickered; his tail swung with confidence, his voice was dark and husky. "I was born ready."

Kakarot smiled brightly.

"That's the spirit!"

"Is it time yet?" Vegeta asked while he bandaged his fists, now facing his trainer.

"Almost," Kakarot replied leaning back on a table, opening a small glass bottle.

The prince's eyes narrowed at the sight of it, immediately recognizing the content.

Red war paint.

He watched as the younger saiyan dipped two of his fingers in the ink carefully, a serious expression darkening his usually gentle features. He slowly let the paint coat the tip of his index and middle finger, and with silent determination, took them up to Vegeta's chest until he touched his tanned, hot skin. Out of instinct, Vegeta tensed at the touch, lifting one of his arms subtly to push his trainer's hand away.

"No. Wait." Kakarot whispered firmly.

With ritualistic calmness, he slid his fingers over the Prince's chest, painting in bright red a symbol -well known to them both- over the muscles that covered Vegeta's heart. The tracing of thick lines with war paint on a soldier's body was a meaningul saiyan tradition that the prince had witnessed countless times on his father. His most loyal generals would trace symbols on the King's face, arms and chest before war, as a way of imprinting the sacred fierceness of the saiyan race on his skin.

Vegeta's eyes slightly widened at the sight of what Kakarot had imprinted so solemnly: there, on his body, like the mark of a true warrior, was the royal symbol of Vegetasei.

"Why... why did you do this?"

The smile that curved Kakarot's lips revealed the sense of contempt that invaded him as he rested his hand on Vegeta's shoulder.

"Because you're my Prince and I will serve you." He replied matter-of-factly, the simpleness of his voice only supporting the conviction behind it. "The gods brought you here. I know that, Vegeta, I know it because my blood, my saiyan blood is speaking to me. The moment I laid eyes on you I understood that all the stories my father told me about you were true: you, the young Prince, were the hope of the Saiyan Empire. If anyone can defeat Frieza, it's you. You're strong, and you will be legendary."

Vegeta snorted and pushed Kakarot away, a cocky smirk on his face.

"Damn right I will. Now fuck off, plebeian." He tied the bandage around his hand and fisted it, testing that his knuckles were properly protected.

"Chainmail?" Kakarot asked as he assessed the display of armors and weaponry.

Vegeta shook his head, stretching his muscular arms above his head.

"No armor." He stopped and grazed the red paint that was now dry on his skin. "Let them see the mark of our Empire."

* * *

"Goddammit Puar, why didn't you tell me we were meeting Lord Frieza in the circus?" Bulma complained as she clumsily made her way towards the box where the Emperor and his escorts comfortably sat. The place was full, and Bulma silently cursed her golden strappy fuck-me heels she had chosen for the evening as she walked up the endless stairs.

"I did tell you, Miss Bulma. It was on the memo I left you two days ago." He answered as he dodged a man with a tray of hotdogs, offering them at the top of his lungs.

She glared at the floating cat but then sighed with resignation. What Puar was saying was probably true. She had inherited her father's brains – the genius and the distraction.

"Sorry. I've been such a mess lately." She said, rubbing the cat's chin just the way he liked it.

The kitty tried to restrain the smile that appeared on his face: Bulma not only talked to him expecting him to answer, she apologized to him!

"That's alright, Miss. You have been busy."

Expectation grew among the crowd as a band of brass instruments announced the appearance of the show's presenter. Bulma choked on her own snort as she saw Dodoria, wearing a blond curly wig and a white robe, stepping on a tall stage and speaking up to the crowd.

"Good night, Cold City! Are you ready to behold the fantastic glory of our Empire, in yet another superb spectacle?"

_Oh my fucking gods, that ugly cherub from hell._

As she kept on walking, her anxiousness grew.

When she finally reached the top, the awkward sight of a giggly Frieza greeted her. Zarbon sat on a red, large cushion next to the Emperor's throne, and welcomed her with sparkling eyes.

"Well hello, little one" Frieza said as she extended her hand and he kissed it courteously, "I got the blueprints delivered today. You are an artist!"

"Thank you, my lord" she replied with a bow, the Emperor still holding her hand.

"My soldiers are delighted with that… ah, what was the name of the…" He patted Zarbon's shoulder.

"Crossbow." The General replied with a gentle smile.

"Crossbow! The crossbow, yes! A wonderful invention, Bulma."

She nodded uncomfortably. Wasn't the lizard planning on letting her hand go? Taking a deep breath, she regained her seductive posture and smiled nonchalantly.

"You're too good, my lord. It's just simple physics."

"Don't be so humble, dear. Now listen, I just want you to enjoy the show tonight. I know you have been working hard and I am satisfied with what you delivered. I have a little surprise for you. Come closer."

Frieza yanked her arm discreetly and her heels made her stumble, approaching the Emperor until she bumped against the throne and they were face to face. His cold, tiny eyes were sparkling –an unmistakable sign of intoxication- and with the strength of his tail around her waist, he made her kneel before him.

"You see, girl, I'm well aware of what you did with Prince Vegeta some weeks ago. And I'm proud of you, it's exactly what I expected."

Bulma opened her mouth to speak but the Emperor quickly hushed her.

"Just. Listen. I can see know what kind of woman you are. A valuable, strong, smart woman. I'm glad you have decided to serve me with no restrictions. However, I must confess…" Frieza's tail tightened around her like the deadly embrace of a snake, "I'm a bit jealous. I mean, after what I heard about your skills… I wish I had a little try of that too."

Bulma felt the strong, nauseating urge to throw up. She didn't know if it was because of the pressure of that tail around her innards, or the sickening implications of what Frieza was suggesting.

"But, that's a little chat we'll save for another day!" Frieza added with a giggle. "About tonight, dear…" The emperor's eyes widened with excitement, "guess who'll be fighting in the arena!"

The Emperor tightened his tail around her ribs.

"T-the saiyan?" Bulma asked, gasping for air.

"Yes! How exciting! His first public appearance! As I said, enjoy the show. It's going to be a good one."

"W-what if he… dies?"

"He won't. I assigned him the best trainer there is. Oh no, that saiyan is going to make a great gladiator, people will come from all parts of the world to see him, I know."

Bulma squinted as she started sweating.

"And to show my mercifulness… I have decided that if he wins today… Wait, wait. Here it comes." Frieza stopped as he signaled Bulma to listen. The voice of Dodoria echoed in the Circus as Frieza mouthed the words along.

"_And to show his infinite mercifulness, Lord Frieza has decided that if our Saiyan Prince survives this glorious, epic battle, he'll have the privilege of enjoying one day of freedom! What a magnanimous ruler we have!"_

"_Hail Lord Frieza!" The crowd cheered._

"My own generosity frightens me sometimes. Don't you think someday, someone might take advantage of me?" Frieza asked her affectedly, not waiting for a response. "Now go, child. Have fun. Relax a little."

With a complacent sigh, the Emperor released Bulma, who immediately collapsed to the floor coughing. The lizard ignored her, turning to Zarbon.

"Ugh, I'm craving a hotdog. Tell that animal to get me one."

"A hotdog for the Emperor and a chocolate parfait for me, slave. Now scram!" Zarbon commanded to Puar, who turned back with concern before leaving, as he watched Bulma slowly crawl on the floor, struggling to get up.

_What the fuck did I get myself into?_ Bulma asked herself with anger as she left the box, her knees trembling. Frieza was like a ticking bomb: one wrong movement was all it would take to make it explode. She was smart and strong, but the perspective of having sex with a creature like Frieza for the mere desire to survive made her shiver. She shook her head at the evidence of her own inconsistency: wasn't that the same reason why she had fucked the saiyan? To please the Emperor, to gain power, to survive?

As she walked down the stairs the sound of the crowd cheering flooded the air completely, and without even noticing it, her steps became faster and her heart started pounding, her gaze set implacably on what she was now seeing on the arena: the saiyan gladiator had appeared from the gates, his oiled skin glowing, his tail lashing proudly behind him. She noticed his lack of armor –in a clear act of defiance- that the symbol traced with red war paint on his chest only came to confirm. In his right hand, a shiny long sword promised the bloodshed a whole empire was waiting for.

She heard Dodoria telling some story about the saiyans and their military power, but the pink man's voice rapidly melted into an unintelligible buzz that merged with the sound of the audience, as her own heavy breath echoed in her ears She ran down the stairs with the confidence of a hunter, until she bumped into the fence that was at the end of the seating area, from where the arena could be seen just a few feet below.

She watched him pace around the arena, waiting for whomever or whatever was the unlucky creature to face him.

Fuck, he was more striking than she remembered.

Vegeta's heart was like a war drum beating in his ears, trying to ignore the fact that this was a stage, a mock act of war, telling himself that survival was the first step for vengeance and revolution. Whatever came out from those closed gates, he would kill it like the saiyan warrior he was always meant to be. He wouldn't dare to accept –not yet- that what he really needed was the madness to stop, he needed… just a day of peace of mind.

Bulma wanted him to see her, to let him know she was there. Why? Because she wanted him to know that she wasn't Frieza's whore; she wasn't the cruel, inhumane reflection of her emperor. She wanted him to know she hadn't forgotten about him, and that she was brave enough to face him again. It was insane, but she didn't care.

The words escaped her lips like the swift flight of a swallow.

"Prince Vegeta!"

The adrenaline shot that rushed up his spine was one of the strongest he had ever felt. Even between the sound and the confusion, the voice that he remembered too well was crystal clear to his acute saiyan hearing. It hit him like a wave of electricity, his name from her lips: she was unmistakable.

When he turned to look at her, she sighed deeply.

_Yes, here I am._

How could he forget the color of forget-me-nots in her eyes and in her hair and the petals sticking to her skin? Vegeta shook his head at the audacity of the woman.

Fuck, she was more striking than he remembered.

As Dodoria introduced the mysterious contender with phrases plagued with gratuitous adjectives, the gladiator and the philosopher ignored the crowd, their eyes clashing in a wordless display of unresolved tension.

As the audience focused on the announcement of the gates opening to release Vegeta's opponent, the prince violently removed the golden mask that covered the contour of his eyes and tossed it away callously, letting Bulma see his uncovered face for the first time. He wanted her to remember him as who he truly was: the alpha male, the warrior, the man. He wasn't the chained prisoner she saw that night; he resented her for it, for exposing him like that, for making him feel weak, _tempted_, out of control. For some reason, he feared she didn't know what his true power was, and he didn't want to fight this battle without making his statement. He was powerful. More than any other man she could've been with.

He bared his white, sharp fangs at her as he spoke.

"What are you doing here, Bulma Briefs?!"

She hid the unnamable feeling that surged inside of her when she realized he knew her name, and frowned defiantly as she answered him, knowing it was the only way to face a saiyan warrior. Confrontation. That was something she was good at.

"I just wanted to confirm if the rumors were true. I heard you are the best warrior there is, but I don't quite see it!"

He growled. The nerve of the wench! She was taunting him, he knew that, but he was more than happy to play along.

"I am an infallible predator, you disrespectful woman! You'll see so much bloodshed today you'll go crawling back to your mother's lap!"

Ever since an early age, Bulma had discovered the power of her own sexuality to cope with threats and power. Even though now flashing her panties didn't work as well as it did when she was 15 -her current environment surely demanded a much more aggressive seduction strategy- she still knew how to disarm an enemy with a bat of her eyelashes.

"How about I crawl back on to your lap?" She asked with a playful wink.

He blushed at the suggestion. Damn woman, using her… charms… to get to him.

Vegeta snorted as he tightened the grip on his sword, as he realized the gates were slowly opening. He couldn't tell if he was more excited about facing his opponent in the arena or with the idea of having a battle of wits with that reckless woman. He had to give her that: she evidently had courage, probably more than she sensibly should.

"Vulgar wench! Get out of here unless you want to get your pretty dress splashed with the blood of whatever's out there."

"At least you have a good taste in fashion. For a monkey."

He growled. She was insane, definitely.

"Vegeta!" she called one last time.

He turned to look at her as he focused on sensing the ki of his enemy – which, much to his concern, couldn't be felt.

"Good luck," she whispered, knowing that he would hear her.

He did.

He should've answered that he didn't need such silly things as _luck, _a pathetic excuse for the weak to justify their failure. He should've answered proudly that nothing or no one could ever survive him, but something –something he couldn't quite put his finger on- blocked the response.

Something about her intensity made him believe her. Even though he was living as a prisoner of this wicked Empire, he still knew his life was worth gold for Frieza. Sensing her support -and Kakarot's acknowledgement of his elite status earlier that evening- breathed new life into his royal, implacable heart.

A sincere half grin curved his lips and he nodded slightly at her.

He suddenly –inexplicably- felt braver.


	5. Chapter 5

I am soooo sorry about the delay with this one. Thing is, I discovered I'm pregnant some time ago and I felt like shit (thank you, Springandbysummerfall for baring with me and all my whining), so it was sorta hard for me to get the inspiration needed for this chapter. So I appreciate your great patience, and I truly hope you enjoy what you are about to read. Besos, cabros.

* * *

"I fucking hate this job" Oolong complained as Baba kicked him in the nose with one of her bare feet.

"Shut up! And I didn't say you could stop, you little good for nothing."

The pig sighed with anger, taking Baba's old feet in his hands again and continuing with the long feet massage his mistress demanded.

The evening was warm and silent, and Baba relaxed with a glass of scotch, leaning back on a deck chair in one of the temple's many gardens. The old woman lit a thick cigar, contemplating the shapes she made as she exhaled the smoke: perfect circles, widening as they faded into the air.

"I need a joint", she said, frowning at the cigar.

"Well I'm not going to see your gross dealer again, old witch! The guy gives me the creeps" Oolong warned, rubbing Baba's toes.

"You'll do whatever I say or I'll eat your fat ass cheeks with fries on the side."

The woman huffed and sensed the younger priestess' distress, who had just joined them in the garden. She watched Chi Chi sweep the terrace frantically, a scowl over her dark eyes.

"And what's wrong with _you_?"

Chi Chi grinded her teeth as she swept vigorously.

"I'm fine! Perfectly fine!" the younger priestess snapped. "Wouldn't you know that, Baba?"

"Ugh, just get over it already, kiddo. You would have to see that busty friend of yours eventually. Cold City isn't that big." Baba replied as she waved her hand dismissively.

"Right. But _you _insisted on seeing that vulgar play, knowing that she would be there! You set me up, Baba."

The witch snickered as she took another breath of smoke.

"Will you get over that? I just took you out because you've been hiding for too damn long. And… maybe you two have more in common than you think."

Chi Chi dropped the broom loudly and stood there, motionless, her eyes narrowed.

"So it _was _intentional! Oh, for crying out loud, Baba, what could we possibly have in common anymore? I have devoted my life to our Goddess and to Gohan; she has devoted her life to power and poetry and… _carnal pleasures."_

Oolong giggled.

"I have no idea who the fuck you're talking about but I sure want to meet her!"

The black haired woman rolled her eyes.

"You're gross. Both of you. I'm going to bed."

As she crossed the terrace doors to enter the hallway, Baba spoke to her one last time.

"Try a water reading before you go to bed! And please, girl, eat some chocolate or have some fun or whatever. You're acting like an old maid."

Chi Chi didn't respond, but her curiosity was sparked as she passed by the fountain on one of the shrines. Water reading was a rare suggestion – it was hard to get a clear vision, and such readings couldn't be forced. If the old witch had suggested it, in spite of her tone, she must've been serious.

The young priestess knelt before the fountain and muttered the ancient words that worked as a key to the ceremonial ritual of clairvoyance that few chosen women had access to. As she slowly opened her eyes, she watched the crystal clear water swirling, sparkling, until it settled into a mirror like peacefulness that started forming a blurry reflection. When she felt her psychic powers flowing intensely inside of her, she sunk her hand abruptly into the water, splashing drops on her deep red cloak.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she let the magic take over her completely, soaking her. Her heart rushed as she felt her consciousness slipping down a dark tunnel, fading into the darkness. When she opened her eyes again, a blurry sight met her.

Her breathing resounded in her ears as she realized that yes, the visions had started.

_Cold City Circus. Crowd, crowd cheering. Deafening sound, cheers. Frieza, he's watching closely. There's a man on the arena… strong, dark, powerful. No weapons, muscular legs, warm hands, dark eyes. A… tail! A saiyan! What the-? Someone… else. Someone running down, the crowd is too big, the noise is too loud. Rushed heart, heavy breathing. Blue eyes, long… hair. I know her. Bulma!. She stops. He sees her, he… what? They talk. I can't quite- they're talking, she smiles. He smiles. This can't- how? Now? Someone has a flashback, a flash… petals, a rain of blue petals, wet… wet skin, an… orgasm? What? Are they? They are! She!? With a saiyan?!_

_The heart of the Empire…_

_Will…_

_**Burn!**_

Chi Chi gasped for air as she opened her eyes, violently removing her hands from the water. They were shaking.

"What the fuck?!" she said out loud, looking at her palms as her heart rate slowly settled.

8 year old Gohan clutched his books on the hallway and blushed at his mother's unexpectedly vulgar words.

* * *

When Vegeta saw the man emerging from the shadow, he blinked; his opponent looked _nothing_ like his previous enemies: a thin, blue eyed, black haired, almost teenage looking person stood before him, nonchalantly. He wore clothes Vegeta hadn't seen before on a fighter: they weren't the attire of a warrior – actually, they resembled the clothes his younger brother used to wear on weekends. A simple black t-shirt, blue pants made of an exotic fabric, flimsy shoes.

The stranger narrowed he feline eyes and ran a hand through his silky shoulder length hair, shimmering under the sun.

"Pft" He said smugly, "All this anticipation and all they bring me is one of those un-talented monkeys?"

Bulma leaned over to watch the arena better, wondering who was that strange character about to fight the saiyan. He looked familiar, somehow… too familiar, maybe. Fuck, her emotions were too wild to even think straight now. Without even noticing, her hands were tense and her brow furrowed. Someone squeezed her shoulder and she jumped, nervously.

Eighteen.

"Relax, girl" The blonde said carelessly, looking down to the arena. "And please get that worried look off your face. My brother is going to be ok." She chuckled. "Poor monkey won't know what hit him."

Bulma took a hand to her forehead and sighed.

"Your… brother. Right. I thought I knew him from somewhere."

"Yeah, he was always the weaker of the two." Eighteen commented casually, her mouth tensing with what Bulma interpreted as deeply rooted scorn. The scientist was about to reply but Eighteen rushed to speak again, darkly. "That, until he enrolled in Frieza's army with me. He volunteered for this… _genetic improvement program _Frieza was trying out some time ago. To create the perfect soldiers, so to speak. Didn't you know that? I heard that's why they brought you to work with us."

Shaking her head in denial, Bulma never took her eyes off Vegeta as he moved with impressive grace and determination, avoiding Seventeen's sharp, nimble hits.

"I had no idea" she replied, almost in a whisper, absorbed by the battle taking place below them. She tried her best to sound cool, composed, only moved by rational interest – the way she was supposed to be. "You know our Emperor, he's not the most transparent person on Earth. But when you say, 'genetic improvement', what are you really talking about?"

The blonde shrugged as Seventeen was loudly smashed against a wall by one of Vegeta's knees.

"Wires, circuits, inner iron armors." Eighteen smirked when she saw her brother punching the saiyan in the jaw, pushing his muscular body away from him, violently. "_Android Improvement Research Program_, that was the name of it."

Bulma's eyes widened at the possibilities of what this could mean

"_Android_? Do you mean, your brother was turned into a _cyborg_?"

"Whatever, ask one of Frieza's marketing 'geniuses' about the name. I just know what I know."

"Holy shit", Bulma mumbled as she leaned forward over the edge, watching Vegeta wrapping his tail around his waist defensively as he gathered a ki ball on one of his palms, his opponent giving him a welcoming smile as if he were waiting for the saiyan to give him his best shot.

Vegeta powered up in rage. He wouldn't be put to shame by this brat. How dare he look at him like his attacks were _nothing!_

The prince let out a fierce war cry as the ki blast left his open hand, reaching an over confident Seventeen. Stretching out one of his arms, he opened his pale, delicate hand to repel the attack. As the white, shining energy reached the android's skin, Seventeen's expression drastically changed. A cloud of smoke surrounded the fighters and as it slowly faded away, the formerly cheering crowd went utterly silent.

The teenage-looking half machine shivered with shock: his severed forearm was still hissing in the ground as the boiling skin evaporated right in front of him.

They had NOT told him this gladiator would be so strong. _But they knew_, Seventeen thought as he glanced, with terror, at Frieza's approving smile up on his marble podium.

The saiyan's eyes widened before he reacted. What the hell was going on? Were those circuits on his opponent's arm? There they were, complete exposed, hanging out from the flesh right below Seventeen's elbow: a series of wires, sparking with weak electric shocks.

Vegeta's nose wrinkled as he yelled again and leapt forward, landing before the android before he could even move.

"What the fuck are you?!" the saiyan hissed as he grabbed his opponent's neck tightly.

Seventeen's fear faded from his face as his glance returned to the man in front of him. With a light spasm, his lips curled into a strange smile and suddenly, he laughed. Vegeta's left eye twitched in confusion.

"Go on!" Seventeen said, "Do it! You know you want to!"

The crowd exploded in cheers and yells demanding gore.

"Kill me! They want you to do it too!"

Had the freak gone insane? Somehow, it didn't really matter. The saiyan felt his blood rushing from his frantic heart down to his arms, engorging his muscles and warming the hand around his opponent's neck. That familiar predatory tingle was the single thing that was clear on his mind. The excitement of power, of ending a life at his will...

"It won't matter anyway!" The android laughed, "They will fix me again. So let's get this over with, you did it. You won. The mob will love you if you give them what they want, you savage monkey prince! It's the only thing you can aspire to, because you're doomed anyway. And they will fix _me_!"

Even though Vegeta didn't process Seventeen's words -he barely listened to them, an insistent hum resounding in his ears- he was intoxicated enough by the thrill of the fight to give in to his predatory instincts. With one fierce war cry, the saiyan held the android's neck and grabbed his jaw with the other hand, savagely pulling his enemy's head with one quick movement. The crack of tendons, bones and wires was sharp and loud.

Vegeta tossed Seventeen's head aside callously, ripped skin and muscles and blood covering the android's severed neck. His slender body collapsed on the dirt lifelessly.

Wiping blood and sweat off his face with his forearm, Vegeta ignored the sound of the audience wildly yelling with excitement and satisfaction.

Bulma hurriedly, instinctively, turned to Eighteen in shock, but the blonde was not by her side anymore. She had been too involved in the fight, in the brutal nature of the confrontation -like witnessing a train wreck, she couldn't get her eyes off the arena- that she hadn't even noticed when Eighteen had left.

Dodoria's deep voice resounded across the stadium, as he fixed his blond, curly wig with one of his fat, coarse hands.

"Behold the cruelty of a true warrior! And so, having our saiyan gladiator proven his overwhelming strength, do you not admire your Emperor even more for taking down a kingdom of such ruthless, savage creatures?"

Frieza's surreptitious presence suddenly materialized beside his pink, massive guard. One of his pale hands softly touched Dodoria's as he addressed his audience from the podium, which had now gone reverently silent.

"Oh Dodoria, you're too good to me." He addressed the crowd with the tenderness of a wise parent. "I, fellow citizens of the Cold Empire, am only fulfilling my most sacred duty. And that duty is to protect my people, for you and I, are _one._" His cold and tiny eyes glittered as he waved his hand towards the audience as the histrionic speaker he was. "You see, my dearest friends, our empire is like a living organism. Like a body. I, your beloved leader, am the head of this great nation. Our brave soldiers, the sacred army that watches over you makes the strong arms and hands that protect you every day. Our priests and priestesses are the heart; they keep us connected to the deities that make us great, they teach us compassion and love."

Bulma snorted. Frieza had declared himself Emperor and high priest of every temple in his domain years ago.

A dramatic pause set the mood for his following declaration. "And you... my people. Do you know what you are?" Silence and expectation flooded the air the Emperor inhaled. "You, my children, are the empire's legs and feet. You are our strongest foundation, you... with all your hard work, keep us in motion. You, only you, move us forward!" As applause and cheers surrounded him, Frieza touched his chest with what appeared to be emotion.

_Yeah, like anyone's going to believe there is a heart inside that creepy body of yours_, Bulma thought with a skeptical frown, then pinched the bridge of her nose as she sighed with exhaustion. She had proposed the body metaphor as a rhetorical strategy in one of the meetings with the Emperor, and he had loved it. And as uncomfortable as it made her to think about collaborating with the show Frieza loved to put up before the people, she had to admit it had been effective. Simple, touching, powerful.

She felt Vegeta's eyes on her, suddenly. Covered in blood, in war paint and dust, his chest giving away his rapid breathing. Bulma looked back at him seriously, adrenaline flooding her bloodstream. Why wasn't she horrified by the brutality he had just displayed? Why did she feel... he was on the _right _side?

He frowned deeply at her. Goddamn wench. He promised himself he would see her again. For what, he wasn't sure.

"Have fun, everyone! This is what we're here for, _together!" _His cold gaze turned to the saiyan on the arena. "And you, sweet prince" Frieza smiled at Vegeta, who stood silently on the arena, while 4 guards quickly surrounded him. "You gave us quite a show tonight, didn't you? You see, even though you're a war prisoner, a _saiyan,_ almost like a wild, violent animal in your nature, I believe in mercy. So, just as I promised in front of all these nice people, you'll get 24 hours of freedom as of this midnight. You have probably never seen a … civilized –he giggled- city, so please, enjoy our public spaces, as surprisingly grandiose they might seem to you."

As people shouted praises to Frieza and his astounding generosity, loaves of bread and dry meat were thrown at the audience.

"Please enjoy our closing act tonight," Dodoria announced from the podium as Vegeta was pushed away from the arena and the blood on the sand was removed, along with Seventeen's body, "the incredible show of the trained miniature super intelligent elephants!"

Zarbon leaned towards his master as he whispered discreetly: "I wouldn't dare to question your judgment, my lord, but… how do you know he won't escape?"

"It pains me to admit that Vegeta is smart enough to be terrified of me, Zarbon. Besides…" He took his general's chin and softly turned his face in the direction Bulma was standing. "If you and your men do a good job, I might be willing to grant you a personal incentive."

The green alien swallowed hard. _An incentive_. He'd wanted to have Bulma for a couple of months now, and frustration had slowly built up on him as his ego suffered with her veiled indifference. That woman, as easy as she was, couldn't be rejecting him. Somehow, she had become Frieza's new pet: the 'incentive' he was talking about probably meant the freedom of courting her.

"Okay, I'm out of here. I'll take a bath before tonight's party; the smell of this place assaults me." Frieza said, turning to where his guards awaited him. "The beautiful Dorina will be my escort tonight. I should already start stretching!"

"D-Dorina?" Zarbon asked. "Dodoria's twin sister?"

"Why yes! You know I have a thing for the exotic!"

* * *

If there was a bigger slut in the Cold Empire than herself, Bulma thought, that was motherfucking Dorina. The woman, Dodoria's twin sister, looked _exactly _like her brother, except for the massive breasts that spilled out of her too tight black leather dress. And although Dodoria was completely bald, Dorina liked using extravagant, lush wigs when she was seen in public. Bulma's blue eyes narrowed as she noticed how much the color of tonight's wig -long, curly, rich red hair- resembled the color of her own red gown.

"You know, I heard she has three vaginas" Bulma blurted out as she received the tray of fruit Yamcha offered her.

He choked. "Thank you for giving me something nice to think about, B"

She had been looking for Eighteen since the fight ended, but she was nowhere to be found... if what the blonde had said was true, there was a possibility that her brother was still alive, even after the saiyan had ripped his head off. And although Bulma usually avoided gladiator shows for the grotesque nature of the confrontation, she had felt some strange, unprecedented sense of pride -gods, pride?-when Vegeta had been declared a winner. Like, like seeing your football team winning, maybe. Or perhaps, she was just fascinated at the display of raw strength yet graceful fighting techniques she had never seen on anyone else. But there was something more, something more revolutionary. She had felt it was an act of justice – his people had been crushed, and that small victory meant that somehow, resistance was still alive in him. _You fucking saiyan_, she thought, involuntarily smiling and touching her lower lip.

"What are you smiling about?"

"Oh, just, uh. Nothing, Yamcha. It's nice to see you here. I thought your trainer didn't let you party. Not back when we were together, at least."

Yamcha shrugged as he gulped down some grapes.

"Well, you were the one always going on about things and people _changing and blah."_

She wondered if Vegeta would be brought to the party like the first and last time they saw each other. She thought about it permanently, as she nodded to whatever her ex was going on about. In the main, marble table, servants placed the entire body of a roasted bull, while the guests clapped. Bulma thought whether she should be scared of him – she had bluffed like a pro back in the arena, playfully confronting him, but he somehow didn't _feel dangerous. _At least, not to her. She had complied with Frieza's will but she had spent the last weeks wondering about the foreign race her empire was fighting against. Were the saiyans really like what the Empire told its citizens? Was _Vegeta_ really like that?

It was the first time she had -fuck, it was odd to think about it- had sex with someone who wasn't free to decide whether they wanted her or not. And she did care about what the saiyan thought of her – she still wasn't tough enough to lose her sensitive level of empathy, of achieving that level of dissociation the rest of Frieza's team possessed. She knew that was life in politics, but maybe this was proof she wasn't' made for this. Just like her father certainly wasn't...

The bull was ripped open by a centaur with a large golden knife, and as the flesh parted, 10 white doves flew away from its insides, gracefully swirling over everyone's heads. Bulma heard Frieza's laugh echoing in the distance, she saw amazement in Yamcha's face as the birds flew out a window.

There was a brief moment of silence right after the doves left, where everyone's attention was still set on the window they had used as an escape route.

In the very place she was standing, right before her ex-husband, it happened. His warm hand touched her shoulder. A rush of blood to the heart. Before she turned around to face him, _she knew._ And when she looked into his black eyes, nothing went as planned.

Whatever he had prepared to tell her -life threats, insults, an oath to destroy the whole Empire that had turned his life to shit- went to hell the moment her crystalline face struck him. He stared at her blankly for a second, feeling utterly stupid for the sudden loss of wit. How did the hot, pulsing rage he felt that night after she called the goddamn guards on him, fade like that? What exactly did he want from her now?

"You-" Vegeta growled.

"How do you know my name?" She asked back aggressively, her eyes momentarily sliding down his bare tanned chest, then back to his face.

"So Bulma Briefs _is _your name! Now tell me who or what are you, Frieza's official witch?"

Bulma snorted. "Right. So in your mindset, every woman with power must be a witch, right?"

Vegeta opened his mouth but not a sound came out.

"So what was your plan? Were you sent by your beloved Lord Frieza to make me feel like the object you think I am?" He suddenly asked after the initial hesitation.

"I was just doing what I was told. I had no choice, just like you didn't."

"I don't buy that, Briefs. I was told you were an intellectual and from what I've heard, that's not how you people operate. What's your hidden agenda? Were you trying to break me, huh? Was that what you were _told to do?_"

"No, it wasn't like that."

"Why did you call the guards that night? Do you have any idea of the mess you got me into?"

"Fuck, I was scared! I was scared of you! Don't you know how fucking strong you are? You weren't supposed to tear the bed apart and just break free! I didn't _plan _to hurt you."

Yamcha's voice suddenly broke the tension between them. He approached Bulma slowly, as if making any sudden movement would somehow trigger a violent reaction in either of them.

"W-what's going on here? Bulma, do you know this- Whoa, holy cow, the saiyan gladiator?"

"If you were so scared of me, why did you come to the circus to see me tonight?" Vegeta asked, ignoring the scarred-face athlete.

"What's he talking about? How do you-?"

She stared at the saiyan for a few seconds and then pressed her finger against his chest, accusingly.

"For the very same reason you figured out my name."

Maybe that was a too honest answer, but she couldn't stop the urgency bubbling in her blood.

"Jeez, Bulma, this is… freaking me out."

Bulma's glance met Vegeta's and from her pink, soft, unforgettable lips the question emerged once again, this time in an unthreatening whisper.

"Why did you find out my name? Why did you come to _me_ for answers, and not to Zarbon, not even to Frieza himself?"

Vegeta grunted when he realized he didn't have any coherent answer. _Because I've been thinking about you ever since that night. Because I remember you even when I don't want to. _

_Idiot._

Without any further reaction, the saiyan turned around and walked to the exit. He was, after all, a _free man _–it was almost a joke to think of himself as such, since it was all obviously a strategy to make a quick cleanup of Frieza's public image- and he could go anywhere he wanted. He could leave, beat his trainer up, get a good night sleep, not see the faces of the ones who had turned his life to shit. And Bulma… he only thought of her because he was horny. There was nothing left to add.

As he entered the hallway, her image sparked in her mind again.

_I am the alpha male._

Something warm tingled on his skin, on his hands, in his lower stomach, on his tail. Anticipation.

He couldn't leave like that – like a goddamn coward – at least, not before he made his point_._

When he stopped under the soft lights of the silent corridor, he sensed her behind him.

"I teach philosophy, engineering and literature at Cold City's University." Bulma spoke to his back calmly. "I don't- I didn't…"

He faced her, the smell of vanilla oil reaching him softly.

"I have killed men for less."

"Yeah, I remember what you shouted to me…"

"I really don't think you're scared of me, human." He replied quietly, his chest slowly touched hers as he inhaled.

Bulma smiled at him impulsively, honestly – a gorgeous smile, like none he had ever seen because back at his kingdom, where no one would dare to look at him like that – reached him like an arrow and he almost hated her for it. Almost.

"Do you want me to be scared of you?"

He touched a strand of her silky hair out of pure instinct, without questioning whatever was implied in that subtle movement. Bulma's head tilted lightly.

"I don't think you do, saiyan."

Vegeta's hand slid up to her cheek, grazing her neck as it made its way up. Bulma knew what was coming – something she had been irrationally wanting, expecting, ever since she first saw him.

He leaned in and kissed her jaw.

"I like seeing your face" She said, remembering that back when they met, he hadn't removed his gladiator mask.

"I like knowing your name so I can hunt you down and destroy you." He purred back, his hot tongue touching her neck as he kissed it. "Reckless human female"

She pulled him closer and searched for his mouth with hers, a slight shiver running through her skin as she found it, willing.

"Did you just make a joke?" Bulma asked below her breath as he pushed her against a wall, kissing her deeply.

Vegeta frowned, eyes closed, his hands taking the scientist's face to make sure the kiss wouldn't end.

They didn't hear the footsteps behind them. The blade went straight across Vegeta's back and the blood shot violently from the wound in a millisecond, as Bulma stared at the Prince in shock. His eyes widened and he stumbled to the left, his forearms against the wall to support his weight. Zarbon stood with a blood stained short sword in his hand, his silky hair still perfectly braided.

"Was he hurting you?" He asked coldly, as he looked at the blood on her clothes with disgust.


End file.
